


Bar Shift

by tyomawrites



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 16:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18253805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites





	Bar Shift

It’s a normal night at the bar, you start your shift at 5.30, grinning from ear to ear as you hear a familiar Irish drawl in your ear. You turn around as you tie a knot in your apron, titling your head up to meet Sweeney’s gaze. He grins down at you with a twinkle in his eye, holding a coin out with his tongue. You get up on tip toes, grabbing it gently before you thank him. He leans down to press a kiss on the top of your forehead before he disappears into the crowd.

You grin to yourself as you make your way behind the bar, smiling at customers, greeting the regulars. The bar gets really busy as the night goes on, Sweeney drops past the bar for a drink every hour or so, checking up on you like the worrisome boy you know he is. You go on serving, taking drinks over to tables when another girl starts the later half the shift, taking over bar duty. 

You balance the tray on your forearm, navigating through the crowd, twisting through gaps and muttering polite excuse me’s and sorry’s as you squeeze between people. You stop by a table of four or five men, setting the tray down so you could place the new ones on the table, collecting up the old glasses.

One of them slurs a pick up line at you, clearly getting tipsy. You force a polite smile, lifting the tray full of empty shot and pint glasses, heading back to the bar ignoring the catcalling coming from behind you. It wasn’t uncommon for people to get piss drunk while they were out, although catcallers and assholes were far and few in between shifts. But since it was a Friday night, it seemed like all of them were makin’ an appearance. 

You stacked the dirty glasses on the washing rack, reminding yourself to wheel that to the back in an hour or so, so you wouldn’t run out of glasses through the night, before warning the other waitresses to watch for the table. You go back to serving, keeping one eye on the clock, as the minutes of your shift ticked by, the other keeping an eye out for Sweeney to swoop back in for his hourly drink.

Soon enough, his vibrant hair comes back into view, a wink already settling into motion, as he sweeps himself onto a barstool and leans over to peck your cheek as you slide him a pint. 

“How’s the night darlin’?” He asks sweetly, still leaning over the bar top. You smile and lean your elbows against the wooden counter.

“Pretty decent, same old Sweeney.” You reassure him, placing a hand on one of his gently. He downs the drink, his head tilted back so you could see the wide expanse of his throat. He winks as he puts the glass back down, giving a content, dramatized sigh before he wanders off once again. You’re used to his wandering behaviour. You go back to your job, the waiting row of customers reminding you that no, this wasn’t the time to flirt with Sweeney, you had a job to do.

As you serve the customers sitting on the bar stool, you catch yourself looking for the other girls on shift, just keeping an eye on them. You feel a hand on your arm, and you tug it away from the grip of a customer. He narrows his eyes at you and grasps your wrist tightly, pulling you over against the counter. He doesn’t speak, and his grip on your wrist is tight and confining. No one moves to help you as you try to pull back, his other hand slaps across your cheek, his eyes sneering down at you condescendingly. You don’t know what you did, but that slap seems to shock the rest of the bar into action. Another guy tries to grip his wrist for him to let go, but is pulled away by someone you assume is the asshole who’s holding onto you’s buddy. 

Just when you think maybe he’s bruising you, he’s ripped away, immediately held back by the other bar patrons. Your cheek throbs and you cradle your wrist to your chest closely. The man is snarling and spitting, his cheeks red, veins in his forehead throbbing visibly. You don’t know what’s wrong, but either way, you’re frightened. Sweeney steps between you and the man, he must have been the one who ripped him off of you. He hops the bar, about as graceful as a gazelle until he accidentally knocks a glass off the bar. He pulls you close to him, his hands gently clutching onto your shoulders.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his eyes scan your face, warm chocolate landing on the reddening skin of your cheek. He gently brushes a hand over it, before he holds your wrist and bends his knees slightly so that he’s closer to your height to look at it.

“I’m fine.. Sweeney I promise. I was just surprised is all.” You say with a small smile to him. He nods, but he doesn’t look happy, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. When he pulls away, you know the look on his face. You step back and he hops over the bar, lets himself stride over to the man being restrained. You look away, as do the other patrons, it’s a common rule by now. When Sweeney’s pissed, no one stands in his way.

A group of girls offer to escort you to the rest room, they’re regulars, you trust them, so you go with them. They leave you at the door, offer to wait. You say you’ll be fine. You go in to assess the damage in the mirror, your cheek is red, but not too noticably so. Your hand is a different story, you look down at it, frowing at the half ring that surrounds the side of your wrist, already a deep red. It’ll bruise and you know it. The door swings open and you turn to move out of the way, but the figure isn’t another female. 

Sweeney stands in the doorway, his knuckles are slightly split, from where they are by his sides, his shirt is rumpled and his hair is slightly eskew on his head. He steps towards you, cupping your cheeks in his hand gently, leaning down to swoop you into a kiss, he grasps you almost worryingly, his hands sliding down to your shoulders, holding you in place as he nips at your bottom lip gently, smiling against the kiss. Your hands loop around his waist, fingers twisting into the fabric. He walks you back until you’re pressed against the sink and wooden counter. He slides between your legs, hips pushing apart your knees, pressing his hands into the flesh under your thighs. His fingers dig into your thighs, they aren’t painful, but they’re hard enough that you can feel him, feel his strength as he practically towers over you even while you’re on the counter top. He traces patterns with his fingers, grinning against your lips, small breathy moans are puffed against your cheek as he tilts his head to trail his lips down your jaw. His mouth nips gently, not even enough to catch the skin, just enough to tease you. He sucks on the underside of your jaw, his beard tickles your throat as he moves lower, trailing butterfly kisses and love bites onto the side of your neck and throat, small and scattered over your skin. 

You tilt your head back, leaning it against the wall as he plasters himself against you, hard planes of lithe body against subtle curves. He slides his hands to your waist, running them along the hem and sides of your shirt. He pulls back for a moment, but it’s only to strip off the two layers of button ups he always wears, leaving him in only is tank top and suspenders. The white material clings to the planes of his body, as you run a hand over it, he chuckles, before ducking in to kiss the corner of your mouth gently.

“No one’s gonna hurt ya sweetheart.” His accent is thick, the sweet drawl in his words dripping with syrup and sugar. “You’re mine to protect.’ He promises. His eyes glitter gold in the dim light, you keep eye contact with him. His pupils widen as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him back in, grinning as you pressed your ankles against his lowerback and the slight curve of his ass. 

He starts with the buttons of your shirt, bottom first, hands teasing your skin, warm against the cool air of the room. Long, gentle fingers trail across your stomach, caressing your sides, they tease up your chest, thumbing over sensitive skin until he can trail his fingers against your throat and the marks he’s left.

“You’re so beautiful, gorgeous in my eyes, not all the luck in the world should have been able to bring me you.” He smirks at his own sap, grins sweetly and leans in to nip at the your earlobe.

As he presses his lips to yours, you close your eyes, letting a sense of flowing emotion wash over you. Sweeney’s always kept you safe, now that you’re in his arms. You’re the safest you can be.


End file.
